Disassembly
by Cranky Crocus
Summary: A very aggravated Minerva McGonagall is met with an oblivious Sibyll Trelawny. What's new? Well, it's not what's new that's important. It's what has already past and what is coming in the future, what McGonagall and Trelawny excel at, respectively. FS


Author's Notes: This was started on Astronomy Day, which was May 6th. It took me much too long to complete this. I do like it quite a lot, even as the couple isn't my favorite. It was just an idea I had when I saw that it was Astronomy Day. As a warning,Sibyll Trelawny is quite out of character, though it is explained. I hope you enjoy the story. Ah, another warning I like to offer--this is femmeslash. If that doesn't appeal to your senses, I suggest not reading this. There are plenty of fanfictions to find that don't include two women together.

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"You _what?_" McGonagall inquired in a voice just bellow a screech, eyes wide.

The overly-frizzy blond-haired professor before her stepped back quickly and blinked. The movement was magnified by her large, round glasses. They made her eyes look the size of golf balls. She looked like a cowering hamster, and her voice was a squeak. "Pardon me? I do believe I caught you at a bad time. I'll just mosey back up to my tower…"

"Oh no you don't! You just spouted off some nonsense about the stars saying I won't be alone in bed tonight. Your usual 'predictions' are bad enough, and yet here you stoop to use the stars as vulgarity? Explain yourself!" The usually stern woman grabbed the shorter woman's arm before she could escape, and spoke in a voice like steel.

"I… I don't recall saying anything of that sort. Are you sure?"

The look the Transfiguration Professor gave was enough to convince Trelawny that yes, she was _quite _sure she wasn't imagining this.

"Well, then, I must have brought up that the planets are aligned tonight in a contour of romance for your sign, and the stars…" the woman, who appeared very small in her fear, rambled on timidly and blinked often.

"Oh, why did I bother asking? I knew you would speak in your Gibberish tongue, anyway. I'm quite sure you've forgotten any language but—a pity, given how your articulation skills used to soar above those of others when we were back in school."

At the mention of school the jewelry-adorned woman stood taller and took on an aura of much more pride and strength than the one she had previously held. Her eyes were wide but fiery and not fearful. Even her hair appeared ready to strike. "You are very well aware, Minerva, that our school years are not to be spoken in the here and now."

Despite the change in the smaller woman, McGonagall felt a smirk play over her usually stoic features. "You're one to talk about the 'here and now', are you? I must say, I have missed this side of you, dearest Trelawny."

"Might you have forgotten I have it? Of all people," Trelawny said tartly and looked sidelong at the taller woman, the large glasses amplifying the look. "Don't you start up that superior mask of yours with me, Catgirl."

Minerva's eyes narrowed and her spine straightened out of habit. Her chin lifted as if attached to the string of a puppet master's control board. "I have done neither. Though you may not wish to talk of past events, they and the person inside of you that I knew, will not go forgotten. As for superiority, prove to me that you are still someone who might match me and I shall not.

Until then, Trelawny, good day." The tall witch was off with a snap of her robes as they scurried off to follow. Trelawny froze and watched the woman leave—watched her emerald robes lift and pull in the wind her fast pace created, watched her grow smaller and smaller, and watched, with a careful eye, how distraught and frazzled the woman seemed. It was very unlike McGonagall. However, it was very like what the stars predicted.

As the air around the Divination Professor cooled and the presence of the other female dispersed, Trelawny seemed to transform back into the eccentric woman that was indeed the caricature of one that believed in the art of Divination almost to a fault. It had allowed her to become a professor at Hogwarts—she had to appreciate how it dissembled the Trelawny that McGonagall could still see.

It was noon when McGonagall was rewarded, in her eyes, with her first break of the day. Classes were going smoothly. Her students still respected her, they were still amazed by her transforming, and the classes were attentive as ever. Even with all of that going her way, she still found it incredibly easy to recline back against the chair in her office and let out a relaxed sigh.

She drew out her want, gave it a quick flick, and muttered some short phrase. The lights in her room went out and the only illumination around was that which came from the open door. She relaxed further and drew off her glasses. She was rubbing her eyes gently when a paper flew out of her fireplace in the shape of a limping horse.

Bemused and puzzled, Minerva stood, replaced her glasses, and strode over to the paper horse that seemed to be walking about in circles and favoring its right foreleg. The woman shook her head slightly and smiled, but huffed slightly when she had to bend down to reach the paper equine and then follow it around while it tried to escape. She felt the pull in the muscles of the back of her thigh and mused that long legs weren't always so grand a thing to have.

When she'd captured the strange being she walked back to her comfortable and personalized chair and sat, shrugging off her top layer of robes. It was hot in her office as summer approached. The delicate horse in her hands seemed distressed and made the motion of a horse whinnying, though no sound escaped its thin, folded muzzle. The Professor felt a small surge of guilt rise in her stomach and spoke a spell as quietly and softly as she could manage to the small creature. It froze as the magic that made it appear living was spelled free.

The woman admired the paper creature for a moment and smiled to think of its limp—the caster must have been distracted when performing the spell. It still seemed like a work of art. She whispered yet another spell and saw the horse unfold before her eyes into a piece of parchment, smooth and slanted script writ over its surface.

"_Under the stars we must have met,_

_To see the leading lights plummet._

_I wished upon one such light,_

_To hold you in our fated plight._

_Been years it has since my face you've seen,_

_But remember you will how your heart careens_

_Upon one sight of these features;_

_This day no longer students, teachers._

_A knock will come upon vertical wood,_

_And I will stand where few others have stood,_

_Open and waiting for you to see_

_How little it takes for disassembly."_

McGonagall read it slowly and then again two more times. It remained unsigned each time. She sighed, placed the parchment off to the side of her desk, and let her forehead drop down into her fingertips, supported by her elbow on the hard wood of her desk. She was not accustomed to receiving romantic messages of this sort and was perfectly pleased not to. After all, she had never been very good with them when she _had _received them.

The woman jumped and looked suddenly to where she had left the parchment. It was back to its horse form and nudging her gently on the forearm.

"You odd little creature. Who spelled you, little one?" Minerva asked hopelessly. She knew she would be offered no answer from a creature of parchment that could not even sound a whinny.

Instead, the horse was perfectly content to jump her other forearm and start nosing her glass paperweight. When she let escape a sound of amusement the creature craned its neck to the side to get a good look at the, to it, rather large witch. It soon lost interest in the glass object and trotted on over to the papers the Professor had to grade.

"Excuse me! Stop that, you!" she exclaimed and shooed the creature off with two fingers. It had begun to munch on the corner of one of the papers. "If you keep at that, curiosity will cease to kill the cat and move on to kill the horse!"

It galloped off to the corner of her desk and appeared to sulk.

"That's it. If you're just going to cause trouble here, I'm taking you up to my room with me. I'll keep an eye on you while I grade these papers." She picked up the magicked critter, her papers, and her robes before making her way out the door. Somehow she managed to juggle all of her things so that she could still close and lock the door to her office. She'd be back soon, but she didn't need to stay in there now. She walked up to her rooms in the staff wing.

McGonagall's rooms were organized and neat, with tartan decorations in numerous places and a warm, sophisticated atmosphere. She smiled upon entering and put her belongings down. The creature stayed on her shoulder as she spelled the door shut.

"Are you going to help me grade, little one?" She asked it in an amused voice, her head cocked slightly to see it. She would not admit that she was indeed lonely. She was just intrigued by this little creature and the message it carried. It seemed perfectly content not to obtain the confession, and made a run down her arm to watch her grade the papers.

The grading went by quickly, half in part to the little creature's antics. It was soon time for classes again, yet they went by just as quickly. Her last class of the day was with a group of seventh year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. It was always an interesting class, as the lot of them was intelligent and hard working. McGonagall enjoyed the class herself but didn't hide the fact that by the end of the day, they always managed to exhaust her. It usually didn't hit until after class hit, as it was now.

When the woman heard shuffling she glanced to her left and saw that the creature she had somehow gathered a measure of love for had started to trot around in circles. The creature was… sparkling? It hadn't been before. Minerva halted the horse yet again with a spell and opened the parchment. The message had indeed change.

"_The time of stars comes close,_

_Shall you be ready to host?_

_Upon the time I do see fit,_

_I will appear with candle lit._

_If the door be opened wide,_

_I will enter and not hide._

_If I face the answer of wood,_

_I will leave with shadowed hood._

_Upon allowing me to leave,_

_Surely do not grieve_

_Over that which you have lost,_

_For you shall not know of the cost._

_My face you'll surely never see_

_If closed door be your decree._

_For if you race from your tartan rooms,_

_You'll catch no more than my perfumes."_

It was, again unsigned. Upon finishing the message, and having read it three times in all, she placed the parchment back on the short, long table next to the couch. If events followed those previous, the parchment would transform yet again into the small equine.

After a few minutes, it did. She wondered at such a spell that would allow her to pause its motion, remove its folds, and _still_ come back again moments later. It wasn't as though the spell had many uses, anyway. Another of those oddball spells thought up by the romantics she would never understand.

McGonagall's mind wondered back to the poem. "Perfumes?" she wondered allowed. Her little friend looked up and pawed at the glass surface of the table. "That would mean the mysterious sender is female."

The horse paused for a moment and then shot its head up and down in a motion that looked incredibly like a human nod. Minerva looked it over and inclined a brow. "You would offer me assistance in this?"

Another nod.

"Hmm… Is it a professor?"

Nod.

"How well do I know her?"

The creature tilted its head to the side and nudged the air. The Transfigurations Professor chuckled and offered it a smile, something she seldom did.

"Oh, goodness. I forgot you're just an enchantment," she said, chiding herself as well. "Do I sit with this professor during meals?"

This time the horse shook its little head and pawed again at the table. The motion was performed in impatience. Minerva stifled the urge to laugh at the little creature.

"Did I go to school with her?"

Nod. The woman decided to rephrase one of her other questions.

"Do I know her well?"

She received an enthusiastic nod and thanked the creature. It seemed an odd thing to do in general, yet appropriate. The Professor had some thinking to do. What professors had she gone to school with? Xiomara Hooch, Pomona Sprout, Sibyll Trelawny, and Poppy Pomfrey. Good—it wasn't a long list. Who was she close with? All but Sibyll. That limited her choices to three; she was making progress. Who did she not eat with at meals?

Oh! She certainly didn't eat with Poppy—the nurse was always busy down at the hospital wings. Occasionally Minerva would bring the woman a meal from the kitchen and stay for a chat, but that certainly wasn't often. Did Poppy wear perfume? The Professor thought a moment, and then nodded. She didn't remember, and it would act as the final clue.

No, not "clue", Minerva scolded herself. That was detective talk, and she wasn't some eccentric detective off gallivanting around attempting to solve mysteries that didn't truly exist. She was a fair, stern woman that simply wished to know why she was being bothered with such romantic foolishness.

McGonagall's fatigue seemed to fade into some quiet, far off space. She stood, picked up the enchanted parchment horse, and left in search of Poppy. … No, not in search off—Poppy would be no where but the hospital wing at this time.

Minerva was overwhelmed by the scent of very feminine perfume as she entered Poppy's office. Ordinarily, the Transfigurations Professor wouldn't have noticed. Scent wasn't something she was particularly careful about unless she was in her feline form.

"Good day, Poppy. What devious distraction have you put your devotion into today?" She asked with amusement playing in her voice.

"I adore your sense of alliteration as always, Minny, but whatever are you in my office for?" Poppy asked as she looked sidelong at her companion. The nurse was busy hustling around her room gathering medical supplies. "I have a patient, a second year that thought it would be amusing to slide down the banister of the moving stairs. Not surprisingly, they moved. Broke his legs in two places."

Minerva shook her head at that and looked up to see that though Poppy's voice was strict, there was an amused look playing over her features. The black-haired Professor allowed herself to chuckle softly. "I'm sorry to disturb you, then. Have you been trying to plan something tonight?"

The nurse's eyebrow shot up as her fist moved to her hip and her foot began to tap. "What are you on about? I've been up to my ears in my duties and you think I've the time to try to plan something for, presumably, us tonight?" The woman shook her head, but softened. "I'm sorry—a bit cranky, if you hadn't noticed. No, I haven't. Something on your mind that you could explore in less two minutes?"

The tall professor had to smile weakly at that, even as she felt the proverbial rug being pulled from under the balls of her feet. She reached up to her left shoulder, allowed the enchanted message to step onto her hand, and brought it in front of her chest where Poppy could see it. "This came in through my fire place this afternoon with some romantic gibberish, and the message has changed twice. Both spoke of a meeting, tonight. I thought I had figured out who had sent it—I guessed wrong."

"Apparently…" Poppy murmured as she leaned forward to get a good look at the creature. "What sort of gibberish?"

"Poetic nonsense about past times under stars and a meeting tonight, where if I leave my door open the sender will enter and if not, will leave and I will not find out who sent the message," Minerva replied with thin lips and distaste in her voice.

"You're a cat, correct?" Poppy inquired with an odd tone to her voice. McGonagall knew that if she remembered back far enough she would be able to place it, but was too curious about the question and its origin to attempt that.

"Yes."

"Well, then, there are two ways to look at it." What was she getting at? "Either you let your feline curiosity get the best of you, or you follow your instincts and wait for your prey in order to pounce."

The black-haired animagus laughed shook her head ever so slightly. "I'm sure you're very aware that both of those options involve my door staying open."

"You're not the only one with some curiosity! After a day's work of overly-adventurous boys, mispronounced spells and their consequences, and the product of witchcraft stupidity, I wish for some excitement as well!" Poppy explained excitedly, little left of her previous stern nurse attitude. She did still have her spunk.

"Fine, fine. My door will remain open, and I'll spill my findings to you at a later time. Pleased?" Minerva brought the little equine back to her shoulder and used the same hand to hold Poppy's arm. The woman smiled and nodded, then leaned frontward and gave the Transfigurations Professor a kiss on the cheek.

"That's my Minny," she whispered with a smile in her eyes. "Now shoo before the second year runs out of my pain-numbing balm."

For the first time in a long time, Minerva McGonagall was nervous. She paced. What was she to wear? More importantly, why was she thinking such things? She didn't know who this person _was_, and it wasn't as though it was a date.

Date. The word stopped her in her tracks. She hadn't been on an actual date since becoming a professor. That had been a decade ago. But she had just gone over how this _wasn't _a date, hadn't she? Yes. Thus, no worry over her appearance besides her normal precautions.

She wandered back to her bedroom, where her wardrobe stood in a corner with a grand dark-wood presence. The tall female opened the two large doors and looked through the farthest corner, where she kept her dresses. She wished to keep out of robes, after having been in them all day. A dress would be a nice variant.

There wasn't a large array to choose from. Her long, rich emerald dress called to her. It had short quarter sleeves of velvet and then long, sheer sleeves of a lighter emerald and a few jewels stitched in here or there. The sleeves were spelled to be comfortable as she had learned from her first use of the dress that the translucent material could grow to irritate the skin with too much contact. The gown fell to her ankles, where wore dark forest green shoes with a small heel. They looked almost black.

The dress allowed her curves to shine through where they didn't in robes. It gathered on her right hip below the curvature and at the center of her chest under her bust. She watched herself in the looking glass on the inner side of the door and brought her hands up to where her customary witch's hat stood. She plucked it from her head and let it fall to the bed. Her hair she loosened and wore at the nape of her neck with the excuse that the tightness was making her sore.

When McGonagall was finished she smiled into the mirror. It was a genuine smile. She hadn't gone out of her way to look nice in a long while. Even for feasts and celebrations she had to dress as a Professor at her best and not an attractive woman. It was hard to combine, and she hadn't gotten the knack for it yet. She sat watching herself for a while.

Then Minerva heard a sound. Someone was knocking on the door.

The figure at the door was cloaked and hooded. When McGonagall entered the room the figure stepped into the room as well and turned to close the door. That finished, the form turned and looked directly at Minerva before dropping the cloak and letting it slide to the floor.

The emerald-clad woman gasped. She was too shocked—her mind didn't even reel. Everything around her seemed to be shocked into serenity.

Before her stood Sibyll Trelawny.

Her glasses were gone. Her hair was under control. Her figure was not clad in eccentric, flowing clothing and uncountable amounts of jewelry—she wore a sensible knee-length gown of lavender and only a few articles of charms about her wrists, ears, neck, belly, and ankles. This woman was different from Professor Trelawny, but still very similar. Her large eyes seemed deep and understanding, while still mystified and confused on another level. The stance she used was one of uncertainty but knowledge, both of the wanted and unwanted variety.

This woman was still a walking contradiction.

"Sibyll?" McGonagall managed in just above a whisper. The woman nodded.

"I suppose it isn't an appropriate time for a 'boo'?" She asked, but carefully and self-consciously. Her laughter was nervous.

"Why did you choose this, tonight and this way?" The still-shocked Professor inquired while making no movement to make the other woman more comfortable.

"I didn't lie, when I told you it was in the stars for you to find romance. I know you think Divination is rubbish. I cannot transform into my inner animal, but does that mean I don't believe it can be done?"

Minerva didn't answer.

"The others were indeed choices. I still have my idiosyncrasies, from the time when we were here as students." Sibyll dropped the eye contact that McGonagall had barely realized they had kept. The dark-haired woman's eyebrow shot up—Sibyll was talking about their past.

"I understand, but that does not explain why. If it was truly in the stars, I would have found romance without your poems and visit. Why you, why like this?" McGonagall posed. She would not let Sibyll become comfortable until answers were given. Minerva could barely believe she was considering the woman comfort at all.

"I…" she started, and then sighed. The hostess waited. "You would have found romance elsewhere. I didn't see that only in the stars—I saw that in others. You have caught the eyes of quite a few here." Her voice was strained; she sounded afraid and uncomfortable, but determined to finish. "I'm one of them. I've missed you, and I hate that what I've become repulses you. If you knew I wished to meet you, you wouldn't have allowed it. This was my only chance."

Silence. Minerva watched her guest. The woman's face was colored, her arms were clutching at her sides. She looked honestly afraid, and ready to run from the room in tears. Some deep string of Minerva's past and heart was strum by this position of fear and vulnerability.

The Transfigurations Professor brought out her arm and waved it towards one of her couches, all in silence. The Divinations Professor sat as the relief flooded her face and posture.

"Thank you, Minerva."

The tall Professor, still standing, nodded imperiously and stepped toward her little kitchen. She was conscious of her dress hurrying to follow her and smiled slowly as she turned to look at her partially unexpected guest. "Would you care for a drink?"

Sibyll flinched, her fear catching up with her. She looked up with vulnerability shining in her large eyes—they'd always been large, ridiculous glasses or no. "Only if you wish to serve me."

McGonagall nearly snorted at that but managed to instead swat the idea away with a flick of her wrist. Her voice was surprisingly patient as she spoke, "Don't be silly, Sibyll—you made it this far, and I _offered._"

Sibyll nodded at that use of Wizarding World propriety and articulated her reply. "You are correct, and that was rude of me. I am truly sorry, and would love a drink. Thank you."

"You're welcome, and forgiven," Minerva responded with a grin as she bowed her head ever so slightly and made her way into her small cove of a kitchen. When she was safely in the kitchen and out of sight she brought her hand to her heart and sighed. She had to work to regulate her breathing and calm her heart. When had Sibyll ever gotten her _this _flustered?

Plenty of times, McGongall reprimanded—it had just been in anger a large majority of the times. This was… different. Minerva could remember it, just barely. It was the fluttering of her heart, the feel of a fire building steadily under her skin, and the pull of something she barely recognized. What was this? She was _attracted _to Sibyll?

"Minerva? Is there a problem?" Sibyll's voice rang softly from the den. Minerva felt herself shiver and her stomach begin to cage butterflies. Yes. Her body was certainly attracted. She felt weak, when only a voice made her shiver. She felt something brush against her arm and turned on a time to meet large, concerned eyes. The voice spoke again before Minerva could react. "Minerva, are you alright?"

The taller woman nodded as she straightened. "Yes, so sorry about that. I haven't had a guest in quite a while," she said quietly, not sure of what she meant. Had it been an excuse? Sibyll didn't take it as one.

"Well, then, might I offer my assistance? I may not be a hostess either, but I've plenty of times been guest." Her smile was radiant and for a moment Minerva thought she wouldn't have to heat water to make tea—she could have used her skin. It didn't look as though she had to; Sibyll reached for a wine bottle and two glasses.

"Getting comfy?" Minerva teased. She was surprised at how easily that came. Why was there no scorn? This was Trelawny the balloon-headed sell-out, after all. No, that wasn't true. She hadn't always been that way and wasn't always now.

Sibyll grinned and winked as she walked back out to the den, swaying her hips. It took more effort than the McGongall wished to admit not to watch where Trelawny's lavender dress clung as she walked. With one last swallow for dignity, McGonagall stepped forward to follow the shorter female.

The atmosphere was warm and accepting; Sibyll weaved in and out of conversation, as deft with her tongue as she had been in her school days. The woman was wonderful company. McGonagall had almost forgotten. _Almost._ She had to admit that she liked this, however. It was like a sophisticated version of her past.

With someone that was important to her. It was another inner confession. Sibyll Trelawny had acted as a burr in Minerva's side for years, but it was an annoyance she had learned to love. Going beyond that the articulate young blonde had been one of the students that had jumped Minerva's walls with flying colors and landed close to heart. It was a difficult feat—it was not something the Transfigurations Professor could easily forget. She didn't want to, either.

"Minerva?" The voice interrupted her thoughts. It was the other female's voice, soft but not concerned. McGonagall adjusted her sight to gaze into the large blue pools.

"Yes?"

"I know you're not a fan of the stars…" Silence. "But given the current romantic setting, do you think just this once you could muster an interest in stargazing with me? I promise to speak no fortunes; pinch me if I do. I swear upon the flesh compressed between your fingers I shall not wreck this for you.

Minerva blinked. Sometimes Sibyll's use of the English language baffled the taller woman. It was, however, admittedly eloquently put. It was also a coaxing idea. The McGonagall female nodded her head and stood gracefully, letting her hand float into the air as an offer of assistance.

Sibyll touched the hand with a feather's touch yet stood on her own. When her two sturdy feet supported all of her weight she stroked the back of Minerva's hand and entwined the woman's long fingers with her own. The female of higher height looked down surprised and then allowed her face to warm into a smile. This wasn't so bad.

Trelawny knew the way from Minerva's quarters. If there was anything that woman could do, it was find the stars. McGonagall wouldn't have been surprised if she'd been able to call them all down and tuck them neatly into a shimmering basket of the diving. Minerva cut her thoughts there; those were the thoughts of a romantic. If there was anything she was not, it was a romantic.

Minerva was not lead to the tower that served as Sibyll's embracing hideout, as the Professor had expected. Instead she found herself on a relatively flat roof with a hand on her hip. It was a warm hand. A soft hand. A woman's hand. McGonagall couldn't help but smile at the pale next to hers.

The temperature was perfect—just chilly enough to produce goose bumps on exposed skin but just warm enough to keep them from truly noticing. There was a soft wind that toyed and tunneled through their hair and dresses. It met with the trees of the Enchanted Forest below them and allowed its whispers to float up to their ears. The moon was high and hung as an important leader in the light-speckled sky. It poured light onto their forms, collecting on their pale skin and dipping into their bright eyes.

Sibyll's smile was wide as she lifted her chin to the sky and allowed her eyelids to meet over her light blues. This was where she belonged; Minerva could see that as plain as…well…night. She lifted her hand and let it rest on the back of the woman's neck. She turned slightly with her eyes still closed.

"How will you stargaze with no sight?" McGonagall inquired in a teasing whisper. She was overwhelmed with the urge to press her lips to the star-woman's cheek. Sibyll turned further and let her eyes peek from their pale guardians.

"And how will you, with your eyes on the blind?" She retorted in a voice equally as wispy. Minerva smiled and started to lower herself to the ground. As she did she gazed up into Sibyll's eyes and allowed her hands to trail down the woman's arms. When their hands touched again, they both clasped the others'. The two lowered themselves slowly and gracefully to the surface of the roof. When that was reached without bump or bruise Minerva let herself fall back and land softly on her back. From this angle, the stars overwhelmed her. She had to close her eyes for a moment.

The star-lover followed suit and reclined to rest next to Minerva. Still not pleased, Sibyll moved inches to the side and wrapped herself loosely around the Transfigurations Professor's body, resting her temple gently on the lengthier woman's collarbone. Minerva opened her eyes and allowed her hand to move and stroke Sibyll's hair.

"The stars really aren't so bad," Minerva commented quietly as she stretched her neck to marvel at the wonder that these light objects in the sky offered. They played tricks with the eyes, twinkling and flicking about like a small flame hundreds of miles away. When one star appeared and moved across the sky, Minerva smiled. It moved with such speed and agility that no spelled ceiling could ever match it. This beauty could not be matched artificially.

"Did you make a wish?" Sibyll murmured into the fabric of Minerva's dress. The woman could feel her smaller friend smiling.

"I don't need to wish on a star when I've got you at my star. The stars have already had their say; I'll just wonder at their beauty, now."

The smile widened and Minerva felt a kiss pressed to her collarbone as lightly as a butterfly. There was movement at her side and the hand that had rested there began to rub the skin of her side in small circles. She turned to smile into Sibyll's hair and press a kiss to the aromatic aureole.

"You're so very logic, Catgirl. You'll keep us from floating away."

As the McGonagall Professor began to smile she felt soft lips make contact with hers. The touch was supple and precise. Minerva smiled into the pink lips and moved slightly to fit her lips into their curve. A hand cupped her cheek and caressed her skin in circles. She tasted salt.

When Sibyll broke away to trace her feather-soft lips down Minerva's neck the dark-haired woman spoke. "You're so very sighted, Starlass. You'll keep us from touching the ground."

She felt a laugh against the skin above her breasts and joined in. Her hand slipped from Sibyll's shoulder to the curve of her waist and then down to the contour of her rear. Sibyll lowered her body to merge with the topped Professor. The fair-haired female's leg fell between the other woman's at the thigh, and she allowed the smooth fabrics to slide and slither together.

"Were the stars right, just this once?" Sibyll Trelawny solicited with a chord of hope in her voice. Minerva McGonagall outlined where Sibyll's naval would be and let the hand trace further to cup the woman's crevice through the slick material of her lavender dress.

"Yes, but they had a little help."

Their kiss left nothing to predict or ponder.


End file.
